


Hell on Earth

by AwashSquid



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 13:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10809648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwashSquid/pseuds/AwashSquid
Summary: Michiru had once told Haruka that she would follow her willingly into Hell, and every time she stepped foot in the Olive Garden, she fulfilled that promise.





	Hell on Earth

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short and very tongue-in-cheek look at their relationship, based on the Tumblr-based notion that Michiru absolutely loathes Olive Garden, but Haruka (bless her unrefined palate) loves it.

Michiru took a delicate sip of Chianti and felt her nose wrinkle. The wine had clearly been opened for a while, judging by its distinctly musky overtones. She lightly pushed away the wineglass, opting for a sip of San Pellegrino to clear out the wine’s lingering flavor.

“Do you want an appetizer?” Michiru’s eyes flicked away from her drink selections and up to meet Haruka’s excited gaze. “I was thinking, maybe you would like the Grilled Chicken Piadina? It sounds really fancy! But I’m also a big fan of the Crispy Risotto Bites, myself.”

“Whatever you feel like will suffice. I’m not terribly hungry, I’m afraid,” Michiru replied, ignoring the persistent pangs of hunger in her stomach. Surely, she could suffer down at least some salad, and then later, perhaps she could order take-away without Haruka noticing? And she could finish off the bottle of Cabernet she had opened last night as a reward for making it through this— _meal,_ for lack of a better phrase.

Haruka seemed appeased enough by her response and took back to studying her menu intently. Michiru had already decided on her course; Chicken Piccata, she knew, was a very easy dish, and surely this abomination of a chain couldn’t manage to mangle it so horrifically that she would be unable to eat at all, for Haruka’s sake. She hoped.

Michiru managed not to crumple her menu beyond repair when the waiter couldn’t manage to pronounce “Piccata.” She refrained from shredding her cloth napkin (mustard yellow, much to Haruka’s amusement and her disdain) when Haruka referred to the cuisine as “authentic.” And, mercifully, she even managed not to shatter her glass when the waiter brought her out something deep-friend and covered in greasy cheese by mistake.

She had once told Haruka that she would follow her willingly into Hell, and every time she stepped foot in The Olive Garden, she fulfilled that promise.


End file.
